


mischief managed

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Banter, Biting, Edging, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, I guess????, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, Quiet Sex, Sexting, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Table Sex, Teasing, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:31:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: Strategic meetings don't captivate Deadlock's interest, but Megatron does.





	mischief managed

**Author's Note:**

> do NOT @ me about this title it was legit the only thing I could think of that fit,,
> 
> but also @ ao3 how do you have an established sexting tag but not an established edging tag?? I made it a tag anyway bc pls. I almost assumed edgeplay was the same thing but thankfully I googled it first and it. is not. the same thing.
> 
> anyway, have a thing I struggled with wayyyyyy too much.

The strategic meeting had gone on for too long already by the time it was Starscream’s turn to speak. The respectful thing would be to _listen_ to the second in command… so it was a good thing Deadlock wasn’t known as respectful. His chin cradled in one hand, his other hand tapping fidgety fingers on the meeting table, frame squared towards the seeker... Deadlock made a picture of nonchalant focus. Except that his attention was sidelong at Megatron instead.

 

Their gazes met, and Deadlock smiled, half-hidden behind his hand. Megatron looked back at Starscream, the tightness of his lips giving away how he’d clenched his jaw.

 

Megatron was inscrutable to most mechs. But again, Deadlock was not most. He might look exactly the same to the rest of the meeting table, but Deadlock knew: Megatron was irritated and becoming impatient for the meeting’s end. Not out of disrespect for Starscream’s contribution (though that was the case for many _others_ in the room), but because of Deadlock.

 

Or rather, because of the reason Deadlock kept peering at him and hiding smirks in the heel of his hand. The meeting had lasted well over an hour, and Deadlock grew bored. A bored Deadlock wanted fun... And his favorite form of public entertainment was to send Megatron private databursts of their more intimate moments, and studying him for minute details which told Deadlock everything. The best part was that his ever present composure meant no one really noticed those fine details; the tightening of his jaw, or the restlessness of usually still hands, or the twitch at a corner of his mouth or optics. They weren’t close enough for their fields to interact, but Deadlock could assume Megatron kept his reigned in as tight as the clench of his jaw. All the better to give as little away as he could.

 

He’d completely tuned Starscream out by this point, so the conclusion of the meeting took Deadlock by surprise. He sat up but didn’t move, watching the other Decepticons filter out of the room while Starscream approached Megatron to talk. Or complain, rather, given the annoyed flutter of his wings. Perhaps it was about Megatron’s own perceived inattentiveness?

 

Now _that_ would be funny.

 

He must have made some sort of noise — a huff of the vents, or a soft snort — which drew Starscream’s attention to him instead. “And why are _you_ still here?” the seeker demanded.

 

Deadlock just shrugged. “Not really your business, is it?”

 

Starscream squinted at him, but he scoffed as he began to make his way from the room. “Nevermind, I remembered I don’t care.”

 

Deadlock watched him go, amused, but his attention was soon back on Megatron. The mech’s gaze was like a physical caress. Deadlock’s smirk only widened at that.

 

“You. Get over here,” Megatron rumbled.

 

Normally that tone would compel any mech to obey in a rush. Deadlock stayed where he was for another moment. He eventually got to his pedes, slipping around the meeting table, steadily drawing closer into Megatron’s reach.

 

Suddenly their fields touched and Deadlock took a sharp intake as he felt the sparks of charge that flickered through them. He took another step closer and Megatron reached an arm around his waist to reel him in. Now, their noses a scant distance apart, Deadlock let out a soft chuckle. “Incredible. No one could tell I got under your plating _this_ much,” he murmured.

 

“They usually don’t,” Megatron growled.

 

Deadlock let his own engine turn over. “That’s why it’s so fun,” he murmured, letting his optics half-shutter.

 

The larger mech snorted, his hands squeezing the plating on Deadlock’s waist and back. “I swear you were spawned from the slagpits,” he grumbled.

 

Deadlock laughed again but he cut himself short with a gasp as Megatron hauled him onto the meeting table. “Needy,” he teased.

 

“Lascivious,” was his reply.

 

Deadlock grinned, letting his backstruts arch as Megatron's hands slipped down his waist to rest on his hips. His lidded optics made a lambent glow, inviting Megatron closer and into a kiss. For the kind of heat that was flowing between their frames, the kiss was practically tame. Charge pulsed through his own frame now, but he was beyond caring about what he was and wasn't showing.

  
  
Megatron pulled back after a moment and Deadlock smiled; everything from his expression to the feeling zinging through his field was smugness. And why not? Satisfaction after getting exactly what he'd wanted — well, that was too good. Megatron squinted at him, a frown on his lips.

  
  
Not amused with his attitude, it seemed. Deadlock hummed. And yet he hadn't stopped touching.

  
  
Before he knew it, his sensors went topsy-turvy as Megatron squeezed his hips and flipped him over. Deadlock blinked, his chin now scraping over the top of the meeting table. "Attitude," he teased.

  
  
"You're one to talk," Megatron rumbled, his large fingers grasping at his hips and aft again. Deadlock shivered in time with that and the low growl of Megatron's engine in close quarters. He let out another breathless laugh.

  
  
"And now what?" he murmured.

  
  
"There's no way you can play dumb now." Megatron snorted, his thumb tracing down the length of Deadlock's still-closed panel. Another shiver wracked his frame. "Now why don't you go ahead and give up what we both want."

 

  
Nothing more than that enticing murmur was required; after another plating-quivering shudder, Deadlock let his panel open under Megatron's touch.

 

It might have been hard to say if he trembled out of anticipation or not, if Megatron had touched him already. But Deadlock knew his legs were already weak when Megatron teased the pad of one finger through the slick folds of his valve. Just touching — just playing.

  
  
Frag.

  
  
And then, of course, Megatron didn't do much more than that. Dragging his fingertip through his already messy array, watching as Deadlock gasped and tried not to squirm and writhe, his own satisfaction curling into his field.

  
  
"Megatron..." he murmured. He tried grasping at the table, but his fingers couldn't find purchase on its smooth surface.

  
  
Without much warning, that teasing finger finally thrust into his valve, cutting off his next murmur into a choked gasp. "Are you really in the position to be making requests or demands?" he said almost lazily. "After everything you enjoyed putting me through during the meeting?"

  
  
Deadlock snorted. "So easy."

  
  
Megatron worked his finger into the smaller mech's valve, causing more sputtering from his engine. "Isn't that my line?"

  
  
Deadlock was too busy panting and shifting his hips, as though trying to encourage more than the single digit toying with him. “Megatron,” he gasped.

 

Megatron shook his helm. “Ridiculous.”

  
  
Deadlock could barely keep his optics online, let alone formulate any sort of response. As much as he had teased his leader, it had been a tease of himself as well. How was he _not_ supposed to get worked up when sending or verbally constructing those images, particularly of Megatron? It was impossible!

 

There was absolutely no resistance as Megatron pushed another finger into him. In fact, Deadlock could feel copious lubricant streaking down his thighs.  
  
Megatron said nothing. He only continued very slowly working his fingers in and out of Deadlock’s valve. It was everything he had fantasized about for the past hour or more, and yet not enough. Deadlock wanted so much more and Megatron's little touch of revenge was making him wait for it.

 

Deadlock lowered his helm, panting harshly. He pushed himself up a little, only to feel Megatron plant a large hand in the middle of his back and kept him pinned on his front. His engine growled again as he squirmed. "Megatron — "

 

"Are you capable of being quiet?" Megatron rumbled.

 

Deadlock huffed. "What's the motivation?"

 

Megatron thrust his fingers deep, rolling over the eager, swollen nodes in his valve. "I think you can imagine," he murmured, his voice a low purr, full of promise. Deadlock quivered beneath him, whining at the end of an ex-vent.

 

Megatron did always love his games. But then... so did Deadlock.

 

Again, Megatron thrust his fingers in deep enough to caress thus far untouched sensors and Deadlock only just managed to choke off another moan. He let his helm fall forward, thunking against the table as he panted more. Behind him, Megatron's engine rumbled approvingly.

 

Great. Now all he had to do was keep it up.

 

Not that Megatron would make it easy. But then, he supposed, that was the point. Deadlock bit hard at his lower lip, his fingertips scratching the polished tabletop as Megatron continued thrusting his fingers into him in that deep, steady pace. It felt amazing, but his charge was only getting dragged out; there was none of the escalation that he needed, craved.

 

And then, after another moment... he pulled his fingers out of Deadlock completely. The mech was about to give up on the game and voice his displeasure when he felt Megatron's hands on his hips instead, pulling him up to rest his knees on the table and angle his hips how he pleased... and then Megatron pressed his lips to Deadlock's wet and wanting valve.

 

Deadlock had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep any noise from escaping. He panted hotly against his palm, his sharp denta now stinging into his fingers as Megatron worked his glossa as deep as he could into Deadlock's valve. The smaller mech melted against the tabletop, his cooling fans stuttering as his vents roared to expel heated air.

 

His legs trembled. Megatron was armed with well-used knowledge of every sweet spot in his valve and he employed it with vigor,  glossa rolling over the swollen nodes. With the way Deadlock bit into his own hand, he'd probably need to see the infirmary for repairs… But it meant he was able to keep quiet, so for now… he didn’t care.

 

Megatron shifted and laved his glossa over Deadlock’s anterior node, prompting a strained cycle of vents from the smaller mech. No matter how much he’d teased Megatron, it couldn't compare to _this_ torture!

 

He felt the amused flicker in Megatron’s field; of _course_ he was enjoying this. Deadlock bowed his helm, his cheekguard resting on the tabletop as his leg plating twitched. Megatron steadily, if slowly, worked him to the cusp of an overload. And it wasn’t that Deadlock didn’t enjoy having the mech’s mouth on his array, but he could now taste his own energon from biting his lips and fingers in his efforts to stay quiet and _that_ was driving him wild in a different way.

 

Megatron seemed indifferent, working him to a crescendo and — moving his mouth away.

 

Deadlock let out a soft grunt — he couldn’t help it! Forcing himself to stay quiet all this time and _now_ leaving him hanging at the edge of an overload? It was too much.

 

Behind him, Megatron chuckled, his hand teasing his messy array again. “You’ve been doing well,” he murmured. The heat in his voice was like a velvet caress, warm and tingling through his field. Deadlock licked his lips and swallowed, feeling the tang of energon on his glossa again. “I do like to see that you can take direction.” Deadlock rolled his optics, only because Megatron couldn’t see with his face still more or less in the table. Megatron laughed again anyway. “You have your games… I have mine. They’re compatible at least.”

 

Deadlock finally propped himself up a little, twisting to look around at the mech. “So you’re just gonna talk at me until I burn myself out on charge?” he remarked.

 

Megatron grinned. “Well. Not until _that_. That would take far more time than either of us have.”

 

With how hot and strained his frame felt, Deadlock wasn’t sure he agreed. “Right,” he muttered, but cut himself off with a soft gasp as Megatron slipped his fingers into his valve again. He righted himself again, his soft panting warming the backs of his hands. “You’re too much.”

 

“Mmm, I think that label is reserved for you.”

 

“Sure, two of a kind,” Deadlock snorted, rocking his hips trying to get _some_ kind of extra push — _anything_.

 

Megatron sighed. “I thought you were supposed to be quiet,” he retorted. He teased a third fingertip at the entrance of Deadlock’s valve.

 

Deadlock cut off his retort into a low grumble from his engine, too focused on having the extra stretch against his calipers. He could feel the light pressure on his over-eager sensors, teasing… and once again withdrawn. Deadlock grumbled under his vents, plating shivering all down his back and legs.

 

Given his distraction, he didn’t hear or notice anything until he felt pressure against his array again; this time it wasn’t Megatron’s fingers but his spike, and Deadlock sucked in another swift intake. A wave of anticipation rolled through his frame, leaving his joints weak.

 

He felt another ripple of amusement roll from Megatron’s field and cascade into his own. Deadlock’s engine rumbled but he still said nothing as Megatron pushed into him, his valve squeezing around Megatron's spike filling his mesh more than his fingers ever could.

 

A muffled groan slipped from Deadlock as he moved; Megatron truly wasted no time — as soon as he’d felt Deadlock’s calipers adjust around him he started rocking his hips in a quick tempo. Deadlock panted raggedly with each thrust, euphoria singing in his circuits at the feeling after such merciless teasing.

 

“Megatron — ” he gasped.

 

Immediately, Megatron shushed him. Deadlock rattled out a snort. Was he serious?

 

Apparently so, because suddenly one of Megatron’s hands was in his field of vision, his fingers teasing at Deadlock’s mouth. Well, if that’s what he wanted… Deadlock let his lips part, and his engine thrummed at the taste of his lubricant still on the mech’s fingers… But then he bit down, sinking his fangs in as he’d done with his own fingers.

 

Megatron’s engine roared, but it was arousal rather than anger that bloomed through their connected fields. If anything, his thrusts became more spirited. That made him near cross-opticked, but it felt _amazing_ , so he kept it up. Deadlock wasn’t as much silenced by the mech’s fingers in his mouth as he was merely muffled, but it didn’t seem like Megatron cared anymore. And as long as Megatron kept fragging him through the table, Deadlock didn’t care either.

 

Given how close he’d been to the edge before, it wasn’t long before Deadlock was on the cusp of overload again, panting and moaning around Megatron’s fingers. Charge practically crackled from under his plating at this point.

 

By now, Deadlock almost expected Megatron to pull away, to leave him quivering on the edge of release once again… but instead he pushed through, using his free hand to pull Deadlock’s hips into his thrusts. His engine growled hungrily each time Deadlock's valve fluttered and clenched around him. With this pace, Megatron clearly chased an overload for himself now, too, and within the next few moments he had them both there.

 

Deadlock wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, engines rumbling in the aftershocks of overload. All he knew was that he must have been smiling in some fool way because when Megatron gently turned him over in his arms, he snorted out a laugh.

 

Deadlock peeked an optic open. “What?”

 

“You look awfully pleased.”

 

“Shouldn’t I be?” Then he smirked and added: “Will you _‘punish’_ me more if I’m not satisfied?”

 

Megatron rolled his optics. “Why do I put up with this?”

 

Deadlock licked his lips, catching errant drops of energon on his lips. He sent a burst of smugness through their fields. “I wonder…”

 

Megatron sighed, leaning in close to Deadlock and kissing him as though chasing the quick dart of his glossa. One hand shifted away from his waist, but he paid it no mind, too absorbed in their kiss. That is, until Deadlock broke it with a gasp, feeling Megatron's touch on his half-pressurized spike. His array was still sensitive from their activities… but his spike was now at attention.

 

He lifted his hips into Megatron’s touch. “Mmm… Megatron…”

 

“Yes?”

 

The way Megatron asked that and yet closed his hand around Deadlock’s length just wasn’t fair, not if the mech truly expected him to say anything. Deadlock wasn’t sure he _had_ anything to say, but this time around Megatron wasn’t shushing him, so there was that. He wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to play along at this point. Soft moans spilled from his lips with too much ease.

 

Megatron tilted his helm to nip at Deadlock’s jaw, prompting the mech to roll his frame back against the conference table and let out a soft cry. He could _feel_ the curl of Megatron’s lips against his cheek, and the satisfied spark through their fields, and quite honestly it was  as much of a turn on as the large fist the mech had made for him to rock his hips into.

 

Deadlock panted, his helm tilted back to encourage the path of Megatron’s lips from his jaw down to his neck. Still, he couldn’t last long with _this_ as well, and before long Megatron coaxed another overload from him. Deadlock shivered into the tabletop, feeling his transfluid spill into Megatron’s hand. It didn't seem that Megatron cared about that either. When Deadlock was able to focus his optics, he found Megatron smiling down at him again, looking quite smug.

 

“What?” he said again, feeling a bit of déjà vu.

 

Megatron tilted his helm. “Trying to make sure you’re too tired to be so devious again in a few hours.”

 

Deadlock scoffed, but to Megatron’s point, didn’t seem to have the drive to even twitch a pede. The larger mech smirked again before gathering Deadlock in his arms and reclining in his chair. Though he scowled, Deadlock shifted to make himself more comfortable and relaxed against Megatron’s front, letting his field spiral out in lazy contentedness. That feeling only enveloped him more as Megatron absently stroked his plating. “Just giving me more material in the end,” he muttered against Megatron’s broad chestplate.

 

He could hear the amusement lingering in his leader’s voice as he replied, “You assume I don’t enjoy the game.”

 

Deadlock said nothing and let his optics shutter completely as he hid his smile against Megatron’s plating.

 


End file.
